sand in all its forms
by The Lady Avaritia
Summary: Bruce Wayne is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Warning: angst like whoa.


**Title:** sand in all its forms

**Rating:** T

**Characters**: Joker/Batman  
**Summary: ****Bruce Wayne is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Warning: angst like whoa.**

**Disclaimer: **disclaimed

**Note: This story has a lot of text conversations in it. The Joker texts in **_italics_** and signs his texts **_–J_** and Bruce texts **normal** and signs his texts **–BW**. Each text is on a separate line. When many texts have been sent by the same person one after the other, I've separated them with a full-stop between new lines. I hope this makes it easier to follow**.

There's two types of people in the world – the one who loves you and the one who doesn't. This is the story of the one who doesn't.

~x~

He sits and hears the words. A sort of numbness is spreading over his body from the center of his chest cavity.

_Inoperable. Deep. Intracranial pressure. Terribly sorry. Options. Arrangements._

He is calm, legs crossed, arms hanging limply at his sides.

'How long do I have?'

'A month. At the outside,' says the neurosurgeon. He has been a part of the Wayne family's array of personal doctors for years. He is a good man. He is looking down with sympathy.

'Thank you Doctor.' Time to leave now.

'Mr. Wayne, I'm so sorry. We can… we can make you comfortable…'

He smiles while his insides churn. He's never been comfortable before. Why start now?

'Thank you doctor,' he says politely.

~x~

The limo ride back to the Wayne Manor is uneventful and empty. He pulls his phone out. Checks his email. Returns missed calls. Almost taps Rachel's number until he remembers that there is no Rachel. Not anymore.

~x~

He tells Alfred and instructs him to pass the message on to Lucius. Someone needs to take care of… everything.

Alfred calls his lawyer. Bruce hates lawyers. Bruce hates every single profession that concerns itself with the law.

He wonders if he's become the villain.

_(Blocked Number Calling)_

He ignores it.

~x~

_(You have thirty six missed calls and one new voice message.)_

~x~

He works almost obsessively. The stocks of the company rise sky-high. He throws parties like you wouldn't believe. He flirts. He has sex with women. He doesn't eat or sleep.

Alfred looks a couple of centuries older.

~x~

The person with the blocked number is relentless in his efforts. Bruce deletes his texts without reading them and ignores the missed calls and voice mails. It's probably someone from the city hall and he hates dealing with those people.

Lately, he hates dealing with people at all.

The painkillers hardly do anything for his splitting headaches. His balance is off.

A morning comes when he can't get out of bed and to the bathroom without the wall's support.

He says goodbye to the Batcave and seals it. A part of him has died already.

~x~  
The Joker breaks into his house.

It's one night during the second week. He's having a fund-raiser for a children's hospital. Tons of people. He wants to say something eloquent, witty and amusing to the group of people talking to him. His jaw freezes up. He can't speak. His eyes widen as he makes an attempt to get the well planned words out.

'Quick,' a voice in his ear whispers, 'what cologne are you wearing?'

'Versace,' he replies in the same hiss-whisper without moving his lips. Then he speaks. His small speech is taken very well. A red-headed mignon laughs, throws her head back, and puts her small hands on his arms.

'Oh, you're so funny, Mr. Wayne.'

'Bruce.' He corrects with a dazzling smile.

He looks around for whoever saved him, but can't see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. A suspicion etches itself n his brain, growing slowly like the tumor that's eating him up from within his skull.

He excuses himself from the woman and tries to distance himself from the party-goers. He doesn't feel like partying. Bruce instructs Lucius to wrap the event up, and retires to bed.

The drapes are closed, and the only light comes from a crack in the door of the adjoined bathroom. The man is with his back to the door, examining Bruce's vials of prescription painkillers.

'Oh,' he says without turning around. 'Evening!'

Bruce sighs.

'Put the morphine down,' he says wearily. The man turns around.

He is wearing a classic cut tailored suit in a deep plum color. His suit jacket is thrown carelessly on the bed and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His scarred face is devoid of make-up and his limp hair has lost the green-ish tint.

'I find myself feeling deeply… insulted,' the Joker remarks casually, 'by the fact that you have completely ignored my attempts at getting in touch. _In-sul-ted_!' he enunciates for good measure.

'I'm not the Batman anymore,' Bruce says.

'Bullshit. Of course you are. You will always be the Batman. It's a part of you. It's a scar, and it's not a scar you can just get rid of without getting rid of half your face in the process. No. you just keep the scar tissue on, carry it with your head held high, feel proud of it, because it symbolizes you and who you are. And I know who you are, Bruce Wayne.'

'I really wish I knew how you found that out, but in hindsight, I don't suppose it matters,' the billionaire says with a shrug.

'A lot of things don't matter in hindsight, but it doesn't make them any less important.' the Joker argues.

'You're awful serious tonight,' Bruce remarks, challenging.

'Oh yes, indeed. How very dull of me. How disgustingly… _normal_. Not to worry, I'll be back to… _ab_normal by tomorrow, and then you can put on your cape and trash me around an empty warehouse a little. Wouldn't you like that? Or I could rob a bank and kill a few people. That'll cheer you up.'

'How oddly… considerate of you,' Bruce remarks.

The Joker smiles up at him with his twisted lips.

'Well… what kind of a friend would I be, if I were not considerate? After all… You're your only friend.'

'You're a two-dimensional arch-nemesis at best,' Bruce bites back, suddenly angry. How dare that man, that… creature… psychopath, how dare he step into his house and mock him?

'Meh. Arch-nemesis, worst enemy, hyperbolized two-dimensional villain in your own personal little drama, or just a disposable comic-relief character… I'm still the closest thing to a good friend you have ever had.'

'I had Rachel!' Bruce is desperate to somehow prove the other man wrong, to show him that he doesn't need his presence.

'No. Rachel left you. For Harvey. Who left you as well. And now you're alone. Here. And if I hadn't gotten out of Arkham, you would be alone, still, in two weeks on your deathbed. I took the liberty of filing through your medical carton. Actually, that's what brought me here.'

'What? Come to laugh at a dying man? To gloat over the end of the Batman? When I die, I will die as Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and there's nothing you can do about it.'

'Well, how utterly dull. Be anything, Bruce, but don't be dull. As I said before… I'm here as your last… your only friend. After all… we complete each other, don't we? Without you I am nothing. I'm the square root of minus one, I am imaginary and impossible, utterly meaningless… I am an empty entity. Just as you are nothing without me. We need each other to be ourselves.'

'Maybe you need me. I don't need you.'

'Don't you now?'

'No.'

'Fine. I'll leave, then. Have a nice life, Bruce Wayne, the Batman. I'll let myself out though your window.'

~x~

He's definitely become the villain.

~x~

_(You have six new text messages.)_

_._

_I forgot my suit jacket in your room last night. –J_

_._

_Reading this now I realize how terribly suggestive it sounds. I am mildly amused. –J_

_._

_I definitely want my suit jacket back, though. You could bring it to my hotel room. –J_

_._

_Then we could have dinner. – J_

_._

_I should stop putting in suggestions I don't mean in my texts.-J_

_._

_Unless you want me to mean them?- J_

~x~

He ignores the messages for a while. Then he calls for a car. He leaves the jacket at the reception.

~x~

**I can't see out of my left eye. –BW**

_(Blocked User Calling)_

'Bruce? Where are you? Stay where you are and I'm coming to get you. Do you hear me?'

'Yes. Yes. I'm in the park, the one across the City Hall, I'm sitting on a bench, my left eye just quit on me half an hour ago.'

'I'm headed your way, I was in the neighborhood doing bad things to good people. Here's my chance of the day to redeem myself. Don't move.'

'Okay. Alright. I'm sitting. I'm waiting for you.'

'Good.'

~x~

It's two days later. The sky is purple like the unfortunate suit jacket. Bruce vomits his lunch in the porcelain toilet bowl. Even the thought of food makes him nauseous these days. His phone buzzes on the tiled floor where it dropped.

_I'm still out in the streets, dinner? -J_

_._

_I just helped an old lady to cross the street. I disgust myself sometimes. Dinner? -J_

_._

_You're about to die. Live a little. Dinner? -J_

_._

_You, me, a final show-down at the docks and dinner afterwards? –J_

Is dinner code for angry hate-sex? –BW

_Only if you want it to be. I play for both teams. –J_

Do you even get laid? –BW

_Do you? –J_

I'm a billionaire. –BW

~x~

_Have you ever wondered if people only like you for your money? –J_

Every night. It keeps me up. –BW

_Me too. –J_

What?-BW

_If someone besides me is going to really miss you. –J_

Are you going to miss me? – BW

_Don't let it get to your head. –J_

Alfred. –BW

_What? –J_

He'll miss me. –BW

_Great. We can have a pity party together after I crash your funeral. –J_

You will NOT be crashing my funeral. –BW

_Why? – J_

It's disrespectful. –BW

_I'm the embodiment of respect. –J_

The texts just keep coming, each more outrageous than the other. Bruce finds a dull sort of satisfaction in receiving them.

~x~

I wish we'd known each other in different circumstances. –BW

_You would've made a great criminal mastermind. –J_

Bruce finds himself feeling oddly flattered.

~x~

Where are you? –BW

_Robbing a bank, can't text, explosive's about to go off, catch you laterz! =D -J_

Please don't tell me you're serious –BW

_Read the paper –J_

Why? Just… why? – BW

_Alcohol is expensive and I'm stocking up for the post funeral pity party. –J_

_I was bored. –J_

It's funny in a really twisted Joker way, so Bruce smiles.

What kind of alcohol? -BW

~x~

You were right. –BW

.

You're the only friend I have. –BW

.

I shouldn't find it funny, but I can't stop laughing. –BW

.

I might start crying if I do. –BW

~x~

My head **hurts**. –BW

~x~

For a few days he gets no replies. Worry starts nibbling at his stomach like an ugly white maggot.

~x~

I never stopped blaming myself for the death of my parents. –BW

I feel so tired and alone. –BW

_Stop. –J_

What?- BW

_This. Stop doing this. To me, to yourself. Stop. –J_

What, dying? –BW

_This isn't funny, and I'm not laughing. Stop texting me like there's maybe some semblance of an opportunity that…_ (delete-delete-delete-delete-delete_|)

_Stop texting me. –J_

Why? –BW

_It makes me sa_ – (delete-delete-delete-delete-delete_|)

_It hurts. –J_ (Cancel send request)

~x~

Why did you kill those people? –BW

.

Did you get bored? –BW

.

Was it for fun? –BW

.

Were you trying to accentuate a point? –BW

.

Where are you? –BW

.

I hate you. –BW

.

You disgust me. –BW

.

Monster. –BW

.

Freak –BW

~x~

The reply he gets hurts a little more than a punch in the spleen. He's crossed the line. Both of them have.

_Can you hear that? It's a dead man talking. –J_

~x~

I think I'm dying. –BW

I'm alone in my house, and I think I'm dying. –BW

I'm scared. –BW

I don't want to go. –BW

You, me, the docks, a final show-down and diner afterwards?- BW

Please. –BW

(Incoming Call: Bruce Wayne; Accept)

'Where are you?'

'In an empty warehouse with a missing rooftop. Where are you?'

'In my home in my room on my bed and everything hurts.'

'I know that.'

'Will you stay with me?'

'… Yeah. I will'

'Fuck, it hurts so much.'

'Think about something else.'

'Tell me a story. Tell me how you got your scars.'

'Mmmm. Fine. Alright. Yes. Listen closely now. This is the story of the boy who loves you most. The boy joined the army, impatient to go all Captain America and do good, and serve the system. And then the boy got captured. And for a long, long time the boy was lost.'

'What about now? Are you lost now?'

'No.'

'Where are you?'

'As far away from you as I could get without leaving the state.'

'Tell me.'

'It's dark, all around me, the dark has wrapped itself around my shoulders like a shawl. The air's hot and heavy and oppressing. I'm lying on my jacket on the ground. The concrete is cold beneath me. I think I got a shard of… something… in my left forearm. It's grey and desolate. Empty. There's only half a concrete block of rooftop left and I can see the sky up. It's like ink, and the stars are little white dots.'

'What are you doing?'

'I'm trying not to think of how much it's going to hurt when you're not here anymore. Do you see the moon? I can see it. It reminds of a nibbled slice of yellow cheese.'

He doesn't keep his promise. He shuts the phone. He can't… he can't, he can't… He throws the useless thing against a crumbling wall, DAMN IT ALL!

He is all alone now. He is the Joker without the Batman, the villain without the hero, the soul without a mate, the twinless twin, a mirror without a reflection. It used to be so much simpler. He'd look at Batman and he'd see himself reflected there in a grotesque of hunger for justice. He'd look at himself and he'd see a magnified reflection of all of society's shortcomings, but in the end they would be the same.

Two coins with too many sides. Like a pencil disappearing in a man's eye socket, like a man getting his face and soul sawn in half, Batman the Illusion. The one magic trick he never mastered.

~x~

He keeps sending text messages to a dead man's phone and there's some little crumbs of cold comfort in that.

_I miss you. –J _

(The number you tried to contact is no longer in use.)

_I didn't crash your funeral. Are you glad? –J_

(The number you tried to contact is no longer in use.)

_I'm texting a dead man. I think I'm going insane. –J_

(The number you tried to contact is no longer in use.)

_Now that's what I call a phone bill. I paid it for you. –J_

_._

_When I was a boy I wanted to be a policeman. –J_

_._

_It hurts that you're not here. –J_

_._

_This is the story of the man who loved you most – J_

_._

_In high-school my girlfriend found it cute that I hesitated when I said I lo- _

_._

_Never mind. –J_

_._

_Gotham got boring without you. –J_

_._

_I'm changing scenery. –J_

_._

_I'm in Manhattan. –J_

_._

_Who the fuck are those clowns the Avengers? –J_

_._

_There's a man who acts just like you. –J_

_._

_His name is Tony Stark. You would've probably liked him. –J_

~x~

_Everything's boring without you. –J_

~x~

_I wish you were here. –J _

~x~

Or maybe this is the story of the one who does.


End file.
